#I guess I should include my regular us politics tag -- though I know you definitely aren't rn:

[whereimnotme]

Went looking for a documentary about *one specific thing* and ended up binge watching Four Corners all day today. Bit of an odd thing to find oneself doing but I do not control the hyperfixation.

Anyway -- ran into these two episodes from 2021 that I thought might be interesting to the broader internet.

Enjoy this deep dive into the history, impact and complicity of Fox News. I've been informed it's not geolocked on the ABC website but let me know if that's a lie.

[socksual-innuendos]

So I was tagged by @yesjejunus for this and I’m doing a joint interview with Emi and Cam because why not. Art is also by yesjejunus

What is your name?

E: Who’s askin? C: Camila, and that's my sister Emilia.

How old are you?

E: Old enough to be your mother. Who’s askin?? C: 48, but I don’t really feel it. 

What do you look like?

E: Oh, good, I have jokes for this. ‘Why not just check my mug shot’ or 'Who is this interview for, the blind?’ oh! How about ‘use your damn eyes’?

C: Oh, ugh...well I use to have black hair and my skin wasn’t so...the way that it is, haha. Can we please move to the next question?

Where are you from? Where do you live now?

C: Mexico! I don’t remember much of it, actually. I mean I do but not enough of one place. We moved around a lot and most of it just looked like the wastes here. I don’t remember being told when we had made it into America, I don’t think it really clicked until we were half way through Arizona. We still moved around once we made it into the States and up until a few months ago we didn’t have a home. But we sort of do now! Right Em?

E: Yeah, we’ll see.

What was your childhood like?

E: Just like everyone else’s in some ways. Good at times, shitty at times, getting into way too much trouble at times. Heh, you know, the usual kid stuff and more.

C: Even when papa was around we still stayed with host families. Emi and Abuelita always seemed to be out doing something, mostly work I think, not that I could ever join them. When I was real little I would get sick so much. Papa wouldn’t let me out unsupervised, but he did trust Emi to take me places. Once he was gone things got a lot more strict. I think the host families didn’t want to chance me getting hurt or more sick. Abuelita agreed with them, but Emi would sneak me out and we’d play. 

What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions?

E: I’m friendly with plenty, whether or not they���re friendly with me is their problem. I guess the Chairmen are fine with me, BAH! I know the Omertas have it out for me, and if those damn pretentious White Chode Society fucks didn’t make a steak as good as they do they’d be a hole in the ground. Who else is there? No one that matters I guess-- Wait, those Boomers might be batshit but they know how to have a party! 

C: Oh! I’d like to think I’m friends with the Chairmen, but they’re really just my employers. Swank is nice, a bit of a flirt but he’s like that with everyone. Tommy is sweet too! He can be tough during practice but I can’t fault him for that. Although Emi doesn’t really like them I love the White Glove Society! They really make you feel like royalty-- And their spa is amazing. There’s nowhere like it in the world I swear. I just really enjoy their casino....Um, other than that I don’t really know any other factions. The Kings are funny, but Emi doesn’t really want me in Freeside without her or Cass or Arcade. She also says I am absolutely not to go near Gomorrah. I’ll admit I’m curious but it doesn’t really seem like a place you’d want to wear open toed shoes, you know?

Tell me about your best friend.

E: Only got Camila and Raul, really. Arcade’s good, a bit too idealistic for his age but whatever keeps you goin. Cass is pretty independent, but it’s part of why I like her. 

C: I have so many now! There’s Veronica, she’s probably the closest I’m to, oh and Sarah. I love my sister dearly but she was never into girlish things. But I have those two now! And they love doing all that stuff. Swank gives me a hard time when he comes around The Aces, but it’s all in good fun. Arcade is teaching me how to do computers, and it’s really helping with the Vault hotel. He’s a bit prickly but he still wants to teach me. I really do love them! I know she’s pretty defensive about our living space but I’m glad Emilia includes them in the 38, this place gets too big and lonely without people. 

Do you have a family? Tell me about them!

E: Cam’s all I need. And Raul’s here now. The others are nice to have around but...Family’s special. 

C: There use to be more of us...I never knew mom but Emi’s told me of her. Xiomara was my abuelita’s name, and my papa was around only when I was little. Then there was-- well, it’s not my place to say. Oh, but I have Raul now too. And Veronica, and Arcade, n Cass, Boone....they count. To me they do. 

What about a partner or partners?

E: Nope. Don’t need one. Not in that sense anyway. I don’t mind having regular lovers, but I don’t get attached like that. Friends suit me just fine. 

C: Not for me no. I mean I haven’t really thought of anyone like that...I haven’t really had the chance to. I mean I’ve thought about it before but nothing serious and definitely not at anyone in particular. I think it would be nice...but I’m just not sure. 

Who are your enemies, and why?

E: Enemies? Now why would anyone want to be enemies with me, I am nothing short of a delight. Although, I will say the Garrets’ opinions of me vary with how hefty my tab is. 

C: I really hope I don’t have enemies. I just got friends! One thing at a time please.

Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them?

E: Brotherhood of Kiss My Ass! Don’t get me wrong, they have cool shit and I love their archives but as long as New Vegas is what it is and as long as they do how they do, I hate them. 

C: Veronica’s told me a lot about them. Aside from the obvious, um, flaws, they sound interesting. I know Emi loves history stuff...This seems really complicated...

What about The Enclave?

E: Never heard of ‘em.

C: The who now?

How do you feel about Super Mutants?

C: I haven’t had the chance to properly meet any. Emi says some are like us and that others are just mindless and violent. We had heard about Jacobstown, that’s part of the reason we’re up here actually. Apparently its a home for the mutated. It sounded like a good idea at first-- it certainly was a smart one but...I like Vegas.

E: Tough sonsofbitches. They have no right being as fast as they are. Clumsy in close combat though. 

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in?

E: Well, it wasn’t the craziest but I did get in a scuff with a mark’s security guard on top of a building. We ended up rolling off, and when I tried grappling my leg had tangled in my climbing cable-- That’s what fucked up my knee-- I ended up hitting the side of the building, having the wind knocked out of me, and then alerted the rest of the security team of an intruder when I broke a window to get back inside. Trying to get out of there with a dislocated knee was probably one of the best and worst adrenaline rushes I’ve had. 

C: Once Rosa and I had a really big miscommunication. I think that was the first time we ever got legitimately mad at each other. She ran off too cool down but I got worried and ah-- Um, things turned out fine, thankfully. Yeah.

Have you ever fought a Deathclaw?

E: Several, actually. Wait-- Ha! Actually, ask Arcade about this, I’m sure he’d love to tell you the story. 

C: Heavens no! I haven’t even seen one outside of pictures. They look terrifying, and Emilia says they’re very territorial and very aggressive. Hopefully I never have to. Although, Emi has said if I’ve ever wanted to see one we could go to the Thorn but animal fights? That seems needlessly cruel.

Do you like fighting?

E: Hell yeah! 

C: I don’t have the energy for conflict. I’d much rather talk it out, like adults. [Camila glares at Emilia]

What’s your weapon of choice?

E: Depends on the job. I love my sniper rifle, but sometimes a trick shot doesn’t have the right flair to it. It’s really about reading the situation and seeing whats available. Sure, you can blast someone’s brains out 2,000 meters away but where’s the fun in distance if no one knows how far it really is. Now, making a big deal out of a target, there’s the fun. You have to personalize each kill, let the mark and the world how premeditated it was. No, it didn’t have to be that complicated, but it was and someone put the effort in. That’s the sort of thing that let’s people know you’re better than them. 

C: I suppose a mic. I’m not really trained in anything, and I don’t really have a preference towards a weapon? Emi really should teach me but last time I brought it up...I’ll ask Raul.

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?)

E: It’s all skill baby. I give a prayer and Lord willing I succeed. That and a quick wit is all I need. (S5, P9, E6, C7, I6, A10, L0)

C: I mostly relied on Emilia to survive. Things have been complicated in the past, but she did what she needed to do. I try to be as polite and accommodating as I can though, at the very least people leave you alone if you’re not causing trouble. I got a job at the Vault 21 hotel! It doesn’t get as busy as the other places on the Strip, but it’s still something!  (S2, P6, E3, C10, I6, A3, L9)

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them?

C: I work at a Vault! Sort of. It’s a hotel now and it’s been mostly destroyed....Sarah’s a bit afraid to be open about it, given how ‘gracious’ Mr. House was, but from what she said it was much more homey when she was little. She’s also told me about Vault life. I guess growing up underground really makes the concept easier huh? I hate being cooped up, but a roof always over her suits her just fine. ‘Though, I guess if the Vaults are as big as she says they were there would be plenty to do inside but...still...

E: I’ve been in a lot. It’s...humbling. All of them have their own unique story and connections to the old world. Reading about some of these people, their lives, their struggles? It’s like looking into other worlds. The dangers out in the wastes are one thing, its nature of man’s sin or the world’s design, but in the Vaults? It can be paradise or tailored evil. When man plays God, everyone suffers. But I suppose they were use to that kind of living. It is life, no? Just like out here. But even then, most of the time Vaults were safe. For those who first stepped out, they left that and saw nothing but, well, this. I can't imagine not having been able to grow up out here. It's shaped me, made me strong, and I can survive because of it. I don't lament my life being hard, like I said it's made me who I am, but I can't help but put myself in their shoes. Having to learn all this after a life in a Vault? That is a cruelty on its own.

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you?

C: Well, you can see how it’s effected me. I’m just like any other ghoul I guess. Oh...I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for when my skin really starts to come off. Oh-- Ah! One good thing I suppose! I no longer get sick. I mean, I still get the fatigue and pain but I don’t get colds like I use to. That alone lets me do more than I could when I was a kid. Bright sides, right?

E: I don’t have an extra arm yet, so I don’t think its effected me much. I try to keep radaway on me though, it always has it’s uses. 

What’s your favorite wasteland critter?

C: Oh I love bloatflies! They’d kind of ugly, but also sort of cute? Just like me!

E: I’ll admit I have a certain fondness for our nightstalker Sawyer. There’s intelligence behind those eyes...well, some semblance of it anyway. Still, she’s here for a reason. Although...they’re not very common up here-- actually I don’t think I’ve seen any up here, but frogs. I really really love frogs. 

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter?

C: RADROACHES. I don’t see too many creatures thankfully but these manage to get everywhere and I hate it!

E: Centaurs are some unholy creation of man and should be purged from this life and the next. They and feral ghouls...I say a prayer for them before I pull the trigger. Whomever they were before they didn’t deserve that.

How do you feel about robots?

E: They’re fine for the most part. Just bits and bobs that can sometimes have a personality, although I’ve seen some being used to cheat death. Those ones are abominations. 

C: Yesman! Oh I love him. Ah, I’ve met other robots before too but I never got to know them well. Vegas doesn’t seem to have much aside from securitrons, though.  

How many caps do you have on you right now?

C: A lot more than what we--

E: That is absolutely none of their business!

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla?

E: Sarsaparilla, easily. 

C: Emi just says that because nuka give her hives!

Do you do chems?

C: Emi made me swear never to touch Med-X. She told me it’s stronger than the stuff we use but nowhere near worth the addiction. I’ve seen some of what she means, so I don’t plan on breaking that promise. Colitas are just fine for me. 

E: Some of ‘em yeah. Mostly for work though. Heh, I even make my own brand of kick in the ass. Yeah...Flake’ll get you through just about anything. The high’s crazy but the crash is insane. I mostly prefer the natural stuff. Peyote comes in handy when I need a good bit of life insight.

Do you ever think about the Pre-War world?

E: A lot actually. It’s quite interesting, they lived a lot differently than us but at the same time not. It’s funny to see how routine human nature is. 

C: Sometimes. Emi still brings back old world books that she finds and I read them when I feel like it. The one’s with photographs are nice. A snapshot in time, as Emi says. She certainly finds them more interesting than I do. 

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently?

C: I was very insistent one night, and I wish I hadn’t been. Things would have been different if I had just stayed in bed.  

E: Ha! You are asking an assassin what their biggest regret it. There is nothing, I assure you. 

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve?

C: I got a job! I have a home, I have friends. I’m...normal. Ha!

E: Ah hell, give me a minute to think of the nastiest bastard I’ve ever ‘in’directly put into power...

What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world?

E: I’m getting old, I don’t need a future. And I’m just one person, the world will go on when I’m dead. Cam though, she’s got what? Centuries? That’s a long fuckin time to think about. Raul’s tried to tell me what it’s like but it just feels-- It just doesn’t click. No way in hell I’m making it that long. I just have to figure some way of making this place as secure as possible for Camila.

C: I just want to be independent! I love Emi dearly but she’s a bit much at times. Especially now...and I’m scared I won’t be able to do a lot on my own once she’s gone. Vegas is good for me. I have friends here and there’s jobs that I can manage. Even if Emi wants to move again, I’m staying. I have to. I have a future here, I can see it. 

[caffeineivore]

For RaeRae

This is for @antivanonmytongue as the start of a cheer-up-emo project, as it were. 

Title: Bourbon

Author: Thalia

Rating: PG/PG13

'Ship: R/J for RaeRae!

Notes: This is dedicated to our RaeRae because we love her and she is going through hell. Stay strong, lovey! There may or may not be a homage to living in a bar...

As for the fic itself, it does not belong to any ficverse I have. Also, there is a town called Brave, Pennsylvania. However, there is probably not a bar called Hope's Landing in said town. I don't know, have never been there XD!

Thanks much to @antivanruffles for the help with plotting and stuff!!

*-*

It's a slow Sunday on a windy autumn day at Hope's Landing, and so when she walks into the place, looking a bit lost and forlorn underneath the bravado of a stubborn chin and a cherry-red designer trench coat and perfectly applied makeup, she stands out like a flame in the darkness. A dive bar in the tiny town of Brave, Pennsylvania, is definitely not the natural milieu for a young woman such as her, and Jesse Wilson pauses in between polishing a stack of rocks glasses and stares, just for a minute.

She walks in slowly, taking in the scratched and faded green baize of the pool tables in the back, the jukebox in the corner, the dark wood of the bar scarred and grooved from countless glasses rolling towards countless hands. Hair the glossy black of fresh ink spills down her back straight as rain. Manicured red nails clutch a buttery oversized leather handbag with a white-knuckled grip. The black stiletto heels she wears click on the worn floorboards, the sound over-loud in the bar's quiet. She selects a stool at the very far end of the bar and perches on it, and Jesse makes his way over with a faintly curious smile.

“What can I get for you?”

At a closer distance, her eyes are fabulous, a dark blue-violet like a twilight sky. “Maker's Mark, neat.”

He asks for ID, and she pulls out a New York license. The address is uptown Manhattan. “Raeanne Haley. Nice to meet you. My name is Jesse Wilson.”

Her hand is small and delicate and warm, almost swallowed by his, but she nods in thanks when he places the drink in front of her.

“You're far from home.”

“It's about a three hour drive,” she replies, and there's a veiled hint of escape written all over her features. Jesse, to whom Hope's Landing has been home for almost as long as he can remember, is good at getting a read on people, but Raeanne Haley is a very complex book open only a crack and written in very small letters that can't be deciphered at a glance. He's patient, though, and leaves her to her bourbon and thoughts.

The door to the bar opens to reveal a familiar diminutive figure. Earl Flynn is spry for his eighty-plus years, and moves to the bar only after he makes the rounds with all the regulars. He'd once upon a time fought alongside Jesse's grandfather in World War II, part of the same squadron, and he still wears his tags even now, over an ancient Steelers shirt. He accepts a beer from Jesse with a gracious smile and sidles over to the mysterious Raeanne Haley.

“What's a nice girl like you doing at a dump like this, then?” The question would have been rude on a lot of levels coming from anyone else than Earl, but the girl Raeanne does not seem offended, and returns his smile with a tentative one of her own.

“Resting, for the moment.”

“Well, this place on a Sunday surely is restful,” Earl tells her, even as he lifts his beer in a toast. “Now, it's almost too quiet. Not like a Friday or Saturday night, though. But our Jesse can deal with the riff-raff, so don't you worry.”

Raeanne nods and slowly sips her whiskey, and Earl keeps up a steady stream of conversation about the football game playing on the television screen, the prospect of taking his grandkids trick-or-treating on Halloween, coming up later that month, and how long the fine weather would last before it would take a turn for the worse.

“... And we should have some music in here, shouldn't we?” Earl stands and makes his way to the jukebox. “None of these crotchety fellas know how to entertain a lady. Not used to having one hereabouts.” With a wink which must have been rakish once upon a time and still full of charm, he grins at Raeanne, then feeds coins into the machine. Even as low guitar notes come on, Earl calls out for Jesse quite a bit louder than the music.

“Jesse, why don't you have a dance floor in here? Maybe we can get some more customers that way. Especially pretty ladies like her. What do you think?”

The song that Earl selected is 'Lady in Red' by Chris DeBurgh, and the old man couldn't have been more obvious if he tried. Jesse glances at Raeanne Haley in her red trench coat, and smiles wryly. “I don't think that pretty ladies like places such as these, for the most part.”

“Well, you could always change her mind. Come on, come on,” Earl is not to be deterred once he is dedicated to a set path, and apparently his mind is made up. “There's nobody here to bother you. Walter and Frank and Barry don't need anything, and neither do I. You should dance with the girl.”

Jesse glances at Raeanne, who has set down her half-finished whiskey, and even as she stands, he comes out from behind the bar. “He's harmless,” he finds himself telling her, even as she lays her hand in his, impulsiveness warring with what seems to be innate aloofness on her beautiful face. “You don’t have to. But I hope you don't mind.”

She doesn’t seem to, and when he puts his other hand on her waist and pulls her in just a little bit closer, the top of her head reaches his lips. He only has to bend his head a little bit to whisper so that no one else can hear them.

“What brings you here to Brave, Pennsylvania?”

“Oh, just… stopping for a bit,” she answers softly. Her lips curve up in a tremulous smile as those amethyst eyes meet his blue ones. “I’m on an impromptu road trip. My best friend from college lives out in LA. I could just fly, of course, but I hate both LaGuardia and JFK, and… this way I can take my time.” Maybe the whiskey has relaxed her a little, or maybe it was Earl’s somewhat one-sided conversation. “I paid a cabbie a good amount of cash to just drive… drive until I told him to stop. And here I am.”

“You told him to stop here?” Earl, the sly bastard, has another slow song playing even as the first one draws to a close. But Raeanne doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. She’s soft in his arms and smells faintly like expensive perfume.

“I liked the name. Hope’s Landing.” She ducks her head and her hair brushes his jaw. “That sounds silly, doesn’t it?”

“This was my grandfather’s bar, back in the day,” Jesse tells her to the background music of Elvis crooning ‘Love Me Tender’. “Hope was his mother’s name. He named it after her because she was not really a showy type of woman. Homey, I guess. Sort of like he wanted this place to be.” Jesse smiles wryly as their eyes meet. “This is definitely not a showy type of bar, I’ll say that much. Nothing like New York City.”

“New York is overrated,” Raeanne huffs out a breath. “I’m escaping, if we’re being completely honest. Mina’s okay with putting me up indefinitely in LA; I’ll probably have my stuff shipped there soon. I just needed a change.”

Jesse wonders for a second if Mina in LA is Mina Averill, the rising supermodel and actress, then dismisses the notion as preposterous. “Well, you are well and truly not in New York City any more, Dorothy,” he says gently. “I’m not quite sure what the exact population of this town is, but I’m also quite sure that the population of Manhattan itself is greater.”

“Yeah, and when everyone you know is either a lawyer or a politician or a Wall Street exec or some horrible combination of the three…” Raeanne wrinkles her nose, then shakes her head as Elvis finishes and Sinatra takes his place. “I usually stick to wine. I’m not this chatty as a rule.”

“Maybe you just needed to talk,” Jesse says, and then pulls back enough to look her in the eye. “But if you don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, I could probably make you a sandwich or something.”

“Yes, you go do that, Jesse,” Earl chimes in, as though sensing that the dancing has come to a close, and winks again at Raeanne. “Our Jesse is a good boy. His grandfather and I were friends since we were young. Charlie might have passed five years ago, God rest his soul, but he made sure that our Jesse was raised right.”

Jesse leaves the old man to extol his virtues and takes the stairs in the back of the bar up to the apartment on the second floor. Hope’s Landing doesn’t boast a kitchen or serve food beyond beer nuts and pretzels, but he lives right above it, and while turkey and swiss on rye is probably not typical fare for one such as Raeanne Haley, he returns with the sandwich shortly.

“Thank you.” She accepts it, seeming to know that it’s the exception rather than the rule, and gives him a real smile before tucking in. She’s dainty in that ladylike way while eating, but doesn’t seem to care about crumbs or the fact that she’s only got beverage napkins to wipe her mouth and hands.

The night draws on; more regulars mosey on in, including a pair of ancient, tattooed bikers who offer to teach Raeanne how to play pool. She declines, graciously, but seems to have relaxed as the time draws on. In any case, she watches the game with interest, and when the shorter, skinnier biker wins, claps politely amidst the raucous cheers of the rest of them. She’s still there, unaccountably, her whiskey long-gone and her plate empty, when the clock strikes midnight and the lights come on.

“We close early on Sundays,” Jesse tells her as he finishes cashing out. Under the bright lights, she’s even lovelier, with pale skin and flawless cheekbones. She pays for her drink with a black American Express and signs the slip with flowing, finishing-school script. He doesn’t charge her for the sandwich, but even after the last stragglers make their way towards the door, she remains seated, and he cocks his head to the side. “Do you… do you have a place to stay for the night?”

She shrugs, pulls out a cell phone. “I could Uber it to the closest hotel, I guess. I’m sorry. I was having fun.”

And all of the sudden he feels like he’s on the precipice of something-- something a lot bigger and more important than small talk with a pretty stranger on a random Sunday night. He swallows the surge of nerves and clears his throat. “Well, and please don’t take this in a creepy way, but… you could crash here if you want. I live upstairs. There’s a spare room.”

She stares at him for a moment without speaking, so he hurries on. “You don’t have to, of course. I’m not sure if Uber is available out here, to be honest with you. But if you’d like, I could probably also give you a ride somewhere if you have a place in mind.”

And then she smiles. “You sure I could just crash upstairs? You barely know me.”

“Yeah, and you barely know me. But… yeah, I’m sure. I don’t mind. I just have one question.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Do you like cats?”

*~*

Jesse’s apartment is accessible through the back of the bar, up a flight of stairs, and it is a tidy, open-plan space with two bedrooms, one of which seems to be used as an office with a futon. A small-ish tabby cat darts out from under the coffee table and heads straight for Raeanne’s legs, winding circles around her ankles and staring up with wide, green-and-gold eyes.

“That’s Jim Beam, or JB for short,” Jesse tells Raeanne with a chuckle even as she stoops down to pet the cat. “He’s usually not this friendly. I found him a few months ago as a kitten, hiding out the rain under an empty Jim Beam carton out by the dumpster, hence his name.” Jim Beam apparently finds Raeanne to his liking, because in very short order, he is butting his head against her hand and purring. Raeanne takes a seat on the sofa and the cat hops into her lap, curling up in a ball and blinking slowly in an attitude of contentment, and Jesse grins at her. “He likes you. Anyway, do you need anything? Water? A tour? A t-shirt to sleep in? All of the above?”

She finds herself agreeing to ‘all of the above’, and smiles to herself when she sees the bread bag on the kitchen counter, left untied from when he’d made her that sandwich. Jesse pulls out the futon in the office, but insists that she takes his room instead, fetching fresh sheets and pillows out of a small linen closet and a plain white t-shirt out of the dresser drawer. Jim Beam follows Raeanne into every room, then hops onto the easy chair in Jesse’s bedroom, curling his tail around his feet.

“Shower’s through that door down the hall. And you can probably kick that cat out of that chair to put your stuff,” Jesse says as he efficiently changes the bed-linens. Raeanne exchanges a glance with Jim Beam, and sets her handbag on the bureau instead. She walks up to Jesse just as he finishes straightening up the sheets.

“You don’t have to do any of this for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a smile. “But, I also know not to subject a lady to a futon.”

That’s not at all what she’s referring to and she’s sure he knows it, but something in his dark blue gaze causes her to acquiesce. She stands on tiptoe, and the jaw that comes in contact with her lips is warm and scratchy with stubble.

“Well, thanks. And good night.”

He lays his hand on her shoulder for a moment, nods, and quietly walks out. Raeanne quickly gets ready for bed and curls up underneath the blankets. The sheets smell like him-- plain soap and detergent, no overpriced cologne, and the pillows are soft. This was not quite what she’d planned when she left New York, but… a smile crosses her face and she stares up at the ceiling and says nothing.

Halfway through the night, Raeanne wakes up briefly to Jim Beam hopping on the bed and curling up on the pillow next to hers. She sleepily runs her fingers over the cat’s soft fur, and lets the purring lull her back to the best sleep she’s had in months.

*~*

Raeanne wakes the next morning to the smells of coffee and bacon and the sound of Ruby Tuesday by the Rolling Stones playing faintly on the radio. Jim Beam meows at her from by the bedroom door, and she follows the cat to the kitchen, padding in barefooted and still wearing the borrowed t-shirt. Jesse’s back is turned towards her as he flips a piece of bacon in the skillet, but he turns with a smile before she even says a word.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she replies, and at his gesture, helps herself. Within a few moments, they’re seated across from each other at the cheap dinette set and eating scrambled eggs and bacon as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Jim Beam cannily positions himself at the optimal spot to beg from both of them, and Raeanne is sure that between herself and Jesse, the cat gets away with a good two slices of bacon. Raeanne eats her fill and watches Jesse from underneath her lashes. His hair shines golden in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window, and when he smiles, he has a single dimple in his left cheek. She, on the other hand, looks vastly different wearing no makeup and his t-shirt than her norm, and yet, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Want me to do the dishes?” She gathers her plate and mug and walks over towards the kitchen sink. Certainly it is not a task that she has ever needed to tackle. But even-- or perhaps especially-- a Manhattan socialite knows that something cannot come from nothing.

Jesse says nothing, but before she can reach for the sponge, gently takes both of her hands in his, and pulls her away. His fingers are callused and rough against her manicured ones, and he doesn’t let her go even when they’re a few feet away from the sink. She finds herself staring up at him in wonder and a little bit of consternation.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

The smile warms his whole face, including his ocean blue eyes. “Because you need it.”

Raeanne’s next breath hitches in her throat, and she stares down at her bare feet for a moment because the kindness radiating from his whole being is warm and almost unbearable, like being a shade too close to a hearth fire. Her toenails match her fingernails exactly, and she takes a deep breath before glancing up again. “Why do you say that?”

“I just know.” A wry, slightly cheeky smile crosses his face. It’s not stubbly like last night, but he still smells like plain soap and detergent with a hint of coffee thrown in now. “You don’t owe me anything, Raeanne.”

Her name sounds smooth and low on his tongue, and when she frowns at what he says, he chuckles. “Well. I wouldn’t say no to another dance. But don’t tell Earl, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“I won’t,” she answers, and even as Queen’s ‘Someone To Love’ starts playing on the radio, she lets him draw her close. Without her heels, he sort of dwarfs her, and in this tiny, sun-lit kitchen, it’s even closer and more intimate than last night downstairs at the bar. But Raeanne lets her eyes fall closed as they sway infinitesimally to the rhythm, and her face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. Underneath her lips, his pulse isn’t completely steady, and that gives her courage.

“Jesse?” Her voice is muffled against soft cotton and warm skin. “How long can I stay?”

The hand at her waist pulls her just a little closer, and his breath stirs tendrils of her hair. “How long do you want to stay?”

She draws back just enough to look up into his face, and lets herself wonder, only for a moment, why it seems so familiar-- why everything from the moment she’d stepped out of the cab until now seems like destiny knocking. But she still manages a quip. “Until Big Bill and Marty teach me how to shoot pool, maybe.”

“Mmm, and are you a quick study?”

She’s close enough to all but count individual eyelashes, close enough to taste that he drinks his coffee black, just like her, but leans in even closer. Suddenly, she knows that she’s not going to LA after all, though Mina would probably squeal over it later, much later, on the phone once she got through the army of assistants and minions. Raeanne smiles, and answers his question just before she lets her lips brush his as though coming home at last.

“Yeah.”

[alchemisland]

LAX

A little something I wrote this morning. I wanted to fuck around with stream of consciousness from a first-person POV in a future dialect, a bastard hybrid-tongue, with elements of the building blocks present in German. Just some messing really. Enjoy.

There’s a formula to getting on. At my best I’m seen to like things, heard to know things and available should anything arise. Like things ironically, they can’t be used against you then. Such is our way.  I have to go fast. I’m like the bankside chicken, crocs in the river, quicker than they look, out and about on the tides and on the silk, always run, always sideeyes on the look, I have to be, everyone who was ever anyone in the corpo kept sideeyes and notrust always. Some secrets are for sharing in bed maybe, just for the two of you, a little private project to protect, prescient pearls, but some of them are just for one, for me, I want to be in the corpo. I have some big ideas. See, that’s the thing. You can’t care, what are you some weird with mosttime - too much time - are you going very slow, fast is the way buddy, gotta go fast zip along that highway like a lit cracker like a bit knacker, go go go. But sametime you have to care, want to change, why else do the corpo exists if nobody is trying to change any things? I inwardly longchange, but outwardly contentmodel. When you get to the corpo you have your own office and its all private and you can work on what you secretly care about I guess a bit and nobody knows and they won’t hate you and fight out what an uglyinside you are beneath the skin.

Was it always like this? Yes. 

Let’s meet for a walk. Stuff myself on the tram. Sardines against the licked glass, fogging, I can’t see what stop we’re at. Nobody stands clear of the door. Too afraid they’ll get stuck at the back and miss their stop, even though that’s never happened in the history of trams. 

All bets are off. Even the nice are made brutes. Commute is the gauntlet through which we pass. A grinder for the weak, sieving out the chaff from the mid-morning warrior, wielding his laminated pass, standing in his designated spot where he knows the host is lightest, where the same portly gentleman alights each day, leaving in his wake a pocket wide enough for three normal sized people - what’s normal - skinny, skinny jeans palefaced phonejunkie - fat, fat and delighted, newfoundly powerful, exerting agency where before went powerless, bless your little porcine eyes 

Me included, can’t be nice. Lose your place. Am I a loser? Fuck no. Remember, it’s about perception. I can be seen to lose, sure. Everyone loses. Napoleon. Achilles. Wild Bill. I can’t be seen to be OK with losing generally, or to not always be striving to win. Elbow on, even if you know rightly there’s no room, and that another empty tram is up its arse; why wait, I’ve waited three minutes already; elbow on and make room, fog the glass, feel its cold kiss agin your cheek. 

At my stop, all manners, ask nicely while pushing, ask for money with the notes already in your pocket, sorry can I move you there love, asked more with an elbow and a shrug of the shoulder rugbylike than a real silver’d tongue. 

Step off, breathe deep, alighted at last. These laminated scanner cards, for important guys who need to travel to the office every single day, where else, you don’t even need to tag off. Just on. The company, see, they want to know where you’re going. Without statistics and percentages, averages and ratios, how can they improve their service? 

Capacity. That’s the political buzzword. Feeling hot under the collar when the camera flashes form a corona, ask your opponent about their plans to relieve capacity. 

Well, minister, a taskforce has been implemented, whose sole duty is commuter flow and congestive relief, LAX squad, black flak gunjack jacks belt bombs bullets and me and my laminated ticket they wouldn't dare. 

Ticketless scoundrels would be first. Dragged down laneways and kneecapped by the LAXers in their black flak jackets. Fat cunts next. I once watched a woman eat chips from her handbag out my bedroom window. Lifting greasy sausagefingers to and from the clashing rocks of her teeth, those golden potato lumps a less fortunate crew of argonauts than those Jason took from Thessaly. She was shiny with vinegar. 

There’d be a helpline too, for helpful people who like to help out, help the authorities help society help these people help themselves. Hello is this the helpline, I’d say. Yes it is, Mr Helpful they would say. Thank you for remembering, machine, I would say. I’m a woman, said the machine - tricky like. I’d like to report a fat disgusting on the lower road, by the Smiles Institution for the Mentally Wretched. 

Most of the mentals were gone. The government couldn’t afford to keep every wing open. The least wretched were transferred to the regular system, scumbag system, but even mangy bangers that bash grannies for their handbags don’t deserve to be with the Mentally Wretched, those too reptilian to be among us. You remind us too much of something we’d rather not remember, thanks. We shoo them away. Prison is not enough. Special institutions, powerful bespoke disarming elixirs, stronger elastics and fastenings. Rarely ingenuous cures. Lock them up. 

Houses. They’re going to build houses for the people to live in. Rich people, buy out the scum. Stove the roof of my crannog so the rain comes through, then brick by brick build your castle around and above it, until one day the light stops streaming in that hole you made, and the last wet concrete sets on my soul. 

C’mon you pricks. We need houses like a rat needs fleas. Here’s a solution. Form the lax squad for real. Not just for the trams; clean the streets. Fats, uggs, unpops, olds, differents, cunts. 

Who is gonna sign up for that job? Who can be trusted to always make the right decisions? This is the genius part. If I wasn’t a writer slash commuter slash junkie slash tryhard slash huge faker slash dreamer slash cynic what else, I would be a really smart guy in the smart business realm. I have some big ideas. Pour cement over the lower classes, cultural layer. 

How? 

Blimps. 

How does that solve the LAX dilemma? 

People a. Don’t probably want to hurt strangers and b. Don’t want to be associated with stool-softening-rapiding agents. 

Why not. 

Have you never really needed a huge shit? I did once, up the way with Steve and like billy-o I went for the briar and scuttered and likely muttered in the winter, steam coming off the pile, stench worse than dog, cans of cider, Druids cider, did a jig and killed inside me(r). 

Anyway, I know who’s going to join the LAX squad. This is the genius bit now. The mentals. Get the mentals out of the big house - I’ll detail my plans for that shortly - and get them back into society. Doing good is good for you. So, here we go. 

Mentals are out, black flak jackets and chainsaws. People won’t stand for it. Why would anyone take a train where the staff occasionally kill you? Giveaways. There’s really good giveaways and extremely reasonable rates. Timing too. We keep a random element, but within strict confines. If you really, really, really aren’t up for stuffing it, we’ll say ‘Don’t get the tram this Saturday between 5-8, when emergency depopulation maintenance will be underway’. 

If you can kill one of our LAX agents without a weapon, using only your bare hands, you will win 10K cash, free travel for life and immunity for your family, denoted by a yellow laminate card worn on a golden lanyard, sprayed sprayed sprayed c’mon people let’s be reasonable, I’m trying to make savings here. 

Bread and circus meets Mad Max meets Eddie Hobbes, who surname is a fictional tiger and whose occupation was declawing a metaphorical tiger. What will you do with the land freed up from the Mentally Wretched? 

Gorgeous houses. Modest, extremely affordable, allotments for vegetables, flowers and berries, green areas, nice paving and gravel drives, adequate parking. How will you afford this? LAX saves the day. If you’re killed by the LAX officers, they get everything - the corp. Corp work for me. I build the houses. Move all the lowers in. The bad ones. 

They hear hissing. I say just heating, pipes, old Victorian brass jobs with whistles, dials, bells and sheen shine Die Glocke. Are you sure, they say. Petition. 

Please check this hiss, we do most definitely certainly hear something a-hiss. 

Goose I said. I have a farm of geese for you lowers this Christ day. 

No they say, we have seen and heard no goose. 

Did you look, I know they haven’t and it’s a trick for time. They know it’s a trick and won’t let me escape, even after I discharge the smoke bombs I had in my pocket, which were actually stinkers and we talked in the smelly, green cloud about the hissing sound and I secretly dialed for the boys. Come get me, boys. Some of these lowers is closing in. They smell bad and can’t read, which makes them basically skunks with Nike shoes, and they like things where people do things. 

Watch the show about the hissing maybe, that would be a good idea for to make more money, make them pay a fee to watch their neighbors in the house trying to find the source of the hissing. 

What is this hissing, daughter, ist thou vibrator on? This is how lowers speak, underpeople. Not me, smart, right smart, commuter man and going to be part of the corp with some of my ideas. Perhaps fidder, says the underdaughter, is idst thou vibrator? All laugh, others laugh other house, nobody finds the hiss and I escape. 

I keep them busy arguing about all the things until the boys come. Hi boys, get them please. The unders would be forced back into their house, lower house but nice ones that I built and now the hissing is so bad you can hear it inside and out and that’s a really crazy feeling and sound, even I can hear it but I let them know?? You crazy, Joe. this is a corp game and I’m the man in the know who runs the slow got the special glow and today’s another day at the corpo. 

One of the boys, I think his name was Dermot. He’s a middler and can’t ride the trains and I see his laminate is brown which is the same colour as shit and it makes me not like him and then I realized maybe why nobody was rushing to join the LAX squad, I wouldn’t want to be associated with any of the ass processes. Maybe I’ll have the name changed; I have those powers, I’m in the corpo. 

He asks me what the hiss is. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about I said and we get in the car and then I don’t have to lie because the unders can’t hear, with the hissing. 

He has music on, quite uncorpo stuff but good. Pale Rapist is their name. They played Frunk, the latest hellvariant from genresmith and axemaster Obscene Pete. Turn this up I said to Dermot who is in the front now driving, so the lowers can’t hear.

I says this hissing you hear he says yes I do sir. Snakes. No way, yes way snakes, where, in the walls in the foundations in the long grasses and beneath the pools, in the pipes and rafters and hollows and sinks, coiled in shoes and cupboards and shelves, I have a snake button at the office. Once I push it, all the Lowers are gone and it’s time to make some money. 

Put all the snakes back, move more unders in, release the snakes. It goes on forever and it makes loads of money and sense. He’s wowed, under me, I’m from the corpo and Pale Rapist is blaring, blaring. Back to the office please and inputs the coordinates. Runes grow blue on the panel. A rift appears and the unders can hear the fabric of space tearing like wet paper even with the hissing that they think is pipes because I tricked them and they believed me, I have nice eyes and I ride the train and my lanyard glints while theirs has a little bit of string like a desiccated length of ancient sausage. 

Through the rift right to HQ, big H, the corpo HQ and my office is enormous, large enough for a rift and the whole car and the lot. I step out, clear of the rift or you’ll lose more than an inch trust me, if my dick wasn’t so big I’d be worried, I could stand to lose an inch or two and still feel swole. He drives back, closes it, leaves. 

Sit at the desk and the snake button is there where I asked for it, it’s pushed like an aging king from his battlements before you can say snakes coming out of every pore and eating all the lowers. 

Guess what, genius idea I had already and didn’t say. The lowers and unders and middlers living elsewhere paid their fee and guess what they’re watching on PPV? New hit show. Billion viewers. Undersnake. 

Which family will survive? I planted one shotgun in the under area. One underfamily will find it. If they survive it’s gonna be good news. Cash money enough to be a middler. They can watch the next season live, cousins maybe. Holy shit idea again, they can be judges, or helpers. One lifeline. You can call this vet fam and ask they sage advice in direst perils. Yeah, season two is gonna have a lot of new stuff. 

Show is over, good ratings. No rift home, take the train. What time is it? Oh the one thing I love about Saturday work. 

My own LAX are on the take today. 

Another forty minutes. I love a challenge, dare me and dare I and how dare they, let’s have a go they would never kill the boss for I was the one who invented the LAX and now the trams run basically on time.

[inawickedlittletown]

Walking The Wire (66/?)

Summary: Tony Stark always knew about Peter Parker. He didn’t know that Peter was going to get superpowers and become Spider-Man, but he always knew about Peter because Peter was his son.

This will span from pre-Iron Man up through the rest of the MCU (eventually including Infinity War) and will be for the most part canon compliant except where I’ve taken some liberties and interpreted canon a certain way.

Pairings: Pepper/Tony, Tony/Steve (endgame), Tony/Mary (past)

A/N: If you want me to tag you when I post new chapters let me know. This fic is also on AO3

I used Collider’s MCU timeline to stay canon and the title of this fic is an Imagine Dragons song that is just so fitting for Peter and Tony

Masterpost

Chapter Sixty Five

Steve couldn’t believe that Tony was there just within reach and that Steve could actually touch him -- that Tony would let him. Tony seemed just as amazed as if he couldn’t believe that they were seeing each other so soon after Siberia and Steve was well aware that there would be much to discuss and settle on, but for the moment they could bask in being in the same place together.

Steve showed him around and he tried to restrain himself from reaching over to hold Tony’s hand in part because he knew that they were being watched, but also because he wasn’t sure if Tony would want to hold his hand.

“I think this place is amazing,” Tony said. “And Shuri -- she’s something else. I kind of want Peter to meet her.”

“How is Peter? I’m so glad you’ve finally met.”

Tony smiled wide and Steve could tell that he was happy. “He’s amazing. I knew that before, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with him and I can’t even begin to believe that he’s my son. I am so glad I’ve finally met him. I thought -- for so long I thought that I lost time with him and I guess I did, but it doesn’t really matter because he still needs me? Or, I don’t know -- he’s just so young.”

Tony looked at Steve and Steve could tell that Tony was proud and happy and just amazed by his son and Steve was glad that Tony wasn’t alone and that there was something -- someone -- in his life that he could be happy about.

“How is he dealing with everything?”

“Well, now, I think. He’s the one that really wanted us to get to know each other. I just -- he really isn’t pushing this aside. He calls me Tony now which is an upgrade from hearing Mr. Stark every other sentence. I’m just going to let whatever happens happen.”

Steve nodded. “And how is the whole Spider-Man thing going?”

At that, Tony groaned. “I’m pretty sure he was in a building while there was a fire yesterday. I don’t even know. I just -- I’m hoping for the best but I can’t help but worry.”

That was definitely Tony all over. He worried over everyone and Steve just knew that he would worry about Peter most of all.

“I kind of feel bad about how I fought with him,” Steve said.

“Back at the airport?”

They kept walking, going past a few Wakandans that glanced up when they walked past. They really did stick out among all the natives and it wasn’t just because of who they were because it didn’t seem like most of the people of Wakanda cared that he was Captain America or that he was walking with Tony Stark.

“Yeah. I, um, I kind of threw a truck at him. He caught it. I had kind of gotten a sense for his strength by that point but it makes me feel bad now knowing it was Peter.”

“I think he might have mentioned something in passing,” Tony said. “You couldn’t have known, though. I really didn’t want any of you to know who was under the mask. I think he likes having a secret identity.”

Steve nodded.

They walked around for a while longer and Steve showed Tony all of the things that Bucky had showed him over the past couple of days. At one point they even walked close to Bucky’s hut, but he didn’t know if it would be a good idea for the two of them to actually see each other just yet. Maybe once he and Tony finally talked everything over.

They spent most of the day wandering around until Okoye came to find Tony.

“The King has some time now for your meeting,” she said. “Captain Rogers is welcome as well.”

Steve glanced towards Tony who nodded so he walked back with them and didn’t bother to ask what the meeting could be about.

---

Peter hadn’t really meant to go into a building that was on fire, but he’d heard the screams and so he’d gone in and helped to get everyone out. It had been the right thing to do and Peter had been right there when he heard the yelling and the fire alarm. Then, he had tried to do his best to help the firefighters which had ended up meaning staying out of their way.

He didn’t really get why Tony was so concerned about it, because Peter was capable enough of taking care of something like that, but then he supposed that Tony was always a little concerned. After all, Peter hadn’t thought about it but he could remember back in Berlin when he’d gone to that rave and Tony had called him and sounded just a bit on the side of anxious while asking Peter to get back to the hotel. Actually, he had acted like May or Ben would have -- a bit concerned and also angry. It made so much more sense now that Peter knew that Tony was his father.

Not having anywhere to be because Tony was out of the country, left Peter deciding to be out in the Spider-Man suit. He wasn’t looking for bad guys or trouble and spent a lot of time just jumping around on the roof of a building. He took a few videos and pictures and paid attention to anything he might hear.

Eventually he moved from one building to another, swinging on the web and throwing himself up into the air and practicing his landings. It got boring after a while and nothing exciting was actually happening. The day was hot and sunny and few people were out but no one seemed to be causing any trouble.

For a while, Peter people watched until that got boring and then he pulled out his phone and checked his Facebook. Not much was happening although apparently Flash was having a pool party. Naturally, Peter had not been invited. He supposed that Ned hadn’t been either. There were pictures up because there were always pictures and he spotted Liz in one of them. She was as beautiful as ever and Peter just stared at her picture for a while before he saw that even Michelle had been invited. Of course in the only picture of her, she was in the background of a selfie with a thick book open in her lap. Unlike everyone else she wasn’t even wearing a swimsuit. It figured. Peter just had to wonder why she had even gone in the first place. Michelle Jones would always be a mystery to him.

He headed back home, swinging around and taking the long route just in case something was amiss. He arrived well before May would be back from work so he just changed into regular clothes and settled down in front of the tv to watch something. He wondered if he might get a call from Tony again.

---

The meeting with T’Challa ended up including an amazing and brilliant woman named Nakia and Steve and it was for the best since Nakia seemed to be more in tune with the politics surrounding The Accords and the UN than any of them. Steve was also great to have there because he brought a whole other perspective into it that Tony was appreciating and agreeing with more and more in light of Peter’s involvement as a superhero.

Mostly they hashed out what they wanted The Accords to look like and where the big changes needed to happen. Tony also told them all about Clint and Scott and the pardons that they were getting even if they’d be stuck inside their own homes for a while. Tony still wasn’t sure how that was going to work out for Clint since his home was supposed to be a secret. He supposed that he would end up using a place that wasn’t the farm. Either way, it wasn’t one of Tony’s big concerns because Fury and Hill would take care of that.  

They discussed everything for a few hours with Okoye and later Shuri joining them to add their two cents in. Tony was highly amused by how much T’Challa seemed to trust the three women, but then they did clearly add much to the discussion.

By the end of it they had come to a long list of amendments that The Accords would need. They were also trying to figure out exactly how to get the UN to see it their way and make sure that Ross didn’t involve himself again. In the end they all knew that The Accords wouldn’t matter if the world needed The Avengers because they would be there in an instant to save it.

They all had dinner together and Tony was actually surprised that they weren’t joined by Barnes which probably meant that they didn’t want Tony to see him or that he himself didn’t want to see Tony. None of it mattered. Tony didn’t know what he would do in the event of actually seeing Barnes.

Dinner was fun, either way. Shuri made fun of T’Challa and she and Tony had a long discussion about nanonites and vibranium and Tony brought up prosthetics too and actually showed her the exoskeleton he’d built for Rhodey. Steve and Okoye talked about Steve joining her and the Dora Milaje for training the next morning and T’Challa tried to speak to everyone about something or other. It was nice.

“Can we have our own discussion?” Steve asked after they finished their meals.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “Want to come to my room? Or yours?”

“I’m staying with Bucky, actually,” Steve said. “He has a small hut. We walked past it earlier. I think he finds being out there away from everything easier. The kids love him. They’ve been calling him White Wolf mostly because he’s white I guess. I don’t know.”

Tony nodded. “My room, then,” he said and led the way.

When Tony closed the door, Steve grabbed his hand but only spoke when Tony had turned to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just really really sorry. It wasn’t fair to you -- what happened.”

“No,” Tony said. “It wasn’t.”

Steve led him towards the bed and they both sat down.

“Remember Christmas when you took me to the house in upstate? I wanted to tell you then about all of it. I should have, but I didn’t want to ruin the day and just everything you did. I don’t know, Tony, I just could tell you weren’t over their deaths and I didn’t want to add to it and make it worse -- bring it up again.”

Tony sighed. “It wasn’t -- I know you thought you were trying to protect me or whatever, but, Steve, that wasn’t up to you. I needed to know. I blamed him for her death when it first happened and maybe it’s still his fault for having that serum in the car with them but it was more than just a car crash. I needed to know that.”

Steve nodded and he actually grabbed Tony’s other hand. The touch and their connection from it made everything a little easier.

“I know and maybe it would have been better if we had told you when we first found out but there was just so much happening. I was trying to find Bucky again and then Thor showed up looking for the scepter and there just wasn’t any time.”

“I get that,” Tony said, staring down at their hands, but his head shot up. “Wait, who else knew?”

“Natasha and Sam,” Steve said. “Probably Fury knew there was something suspicious about it now that I think of it. I wonder if Peggy--”

Tony shook his head. “No she wouldn’t have known. You know Peggy, she would have figured out Hydra was a part of Shield if she ever knew that there was any suspicion that it wasn’t an accident. I guess they didn’t want to tell me either, then?”

Steve squeezed Tony’s hands. “Sam didn’t even know you then and Natasha was sure I’d tell you.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “I get it, I think, why you kept it from me. It’s just -- you left this huge target on our backs by not telling me. Actually, this whole thing with Bucky and your need to protect him above all else left us in shambles and I’m talking about the team. Look, I get it, I would go to the ends of the Earth to rescue Rhodey -- hell, I would do it for you. For Peter I would destroy myself if it meant that he was okay. So I can’t really fault you for it except that you put him first and that has led to the team being torn apart and just made things worse than they needed to be.”

Steve bowed his head. “Tony, The Accords as they stand are wrong. You said just that earlier today and I know you didn’t see that then, but I did. I saw the problems that it would bring and the way that it would tie all of our hands.”

The whole thing was just so complicated. It was a mess that they could never hope to unravel and understand and maybe they just didn’t need to because the past was the past and there wouldn’t be changing any of it. Tony could forgive the mistakes that had been made because some of them were his too. He didn’t know how long it would take him to get past Barnes’ involvement in the deaths of his parents, but it would happen eventually too. After all, deep down Tony knew that Barnes wouldn’t have done it of his own accord.

“I don’t think talking about any of that is actually going to help,” he said and scooted closer to Steve.

“Maybe you’re right,” Steve said. “I just -- I want you to know that I wish things had gone differently. I hate more than anything else that I’m not with you in New York -- at home. I miss the bots and the tower and just everything. You most of all.”

Tony leaned forward and kissed him. It was easy to just fall into a kiss with Steve and to let his hands fall out of Steve’s to land them on Steve’s face and neck. Steve’s hair was silkier when long, soft under his fingers and lovely to touch and Steve tasted of the sweet chocolate dessert they’d had during dinner.

“Tony,” Steve mumbled against his lips when Tony pulled back and nuzzled against Steve’s neck.

“Hmm?”

Steve’s hands pulled him forward, pushing their bodies together as he fell onto his back with Tony on top. It was everything to feel Steve underneath him all muscle and hard plains and Tony just went in for another kiss that Steve returned eagerly even as he lifted himself on the bed, rolling them over so that Tony was flat on the mattress and Steve was leaning over him, bending down to keep the kiss going before he was trailing kisses down Tony’s jaw instead.

“Love that, Steve. I love that. Do you...whatever you want, alright. I’m -- yeah, anything.”

Steve kissed down his neck and lifted his face to look at him when he got to the edge of Tony’s shirt. Their eyes met and Steve smiled beatifically. “I love you, Tony.”

Tony gasped. “Oh. I -- yeah, I love you too.”

Steve laughed and then they were kissing again and Tony knew it was going to be a long but very good night.

Chapter Sixty Seven

[ryryanfunko-blog]

“I GOTS DA GIFT!”: Marty McFly & DeLorean Funko Pop!

Obtained: Christmas 2014 Photos Posted On: Dec. 1, 2015

So this is the only Pop that I’ve got that came with another object, and I really liked it. I’d seen it on Hot Topic’s website and quickly noticed it cost somewhere like $23? or $25? Something like that. And again, at this time, I still wasn’t crazy about Funko Pops. But, I am a big Back to the Future fan. It’s definitely one of my favorite movies of all time. And I know, I know, there’s three of them. But I’ll group ‘em in all together as “a movie,” just for the sake of ranking favorite movies. Because frankly, my top favorite movies seem to be a line of movies with sequels. And I can’t really choose one over the other, because they all really stand well together (except, admittedly, I think Back to the Future III was meh). So, Inception’s my favorite movie of all time at this point, but some movies following that in no particular order are the Back to the Future movies, The Matrix movies, the Ocean’s trilogy, and more. 

Tangent again, but whatevs. So, I saw it on Hot Topic’s site, and I wasn’t that crazy for Funko Pops yet. So seeing a price tag of $23-25 for a toy? Didn’t make sense to me. So I passed. But anytime I’d be on a computer, I’d often find myself going back to HotTopic.com just to look at it, LMAO. And by now, I’ve come to realize, if I find myself re-checking some sort of product, it’s a sure sign I do want it, and if I can, I should probs get it. But I didn’t think like that at the time, so I’d online-window-shop it and then get back to my regular routine. But Christmas was nearing, and from my last funko blog post, you’d know I just bought a Frieza Pop to gift to my brother. Well, so, for Christmas, or any gift-giving occasion, my brother’s straight to the point and doesn’t like to play guessing games, and this is one of the things I like about him: he asks you straight up what you want. LMAO. I love it because for Christmas, my brother and sister are both like Santa Claus in a way. My sister really plays into it though. She literally comes over with SACKS of gifts. Multiple gifts. Not cheap little stocking stuffers. She buys multiple nice gifts and puts them in a sack, for each person. Thing is though, if I’m being honest, she often does get things she thinks may be cool or useful, but actually might not be. Again, it’s the thought that counts… But in that way, she’s like Santa Claus. My brother though, although he doesn’t gift with multiple items or huge sacks, he’ll accept lists from me, LOL. I’ll give him a list of things I want and he might get me one or two of them. But at least it’s a guarantee of what I actually want! So that’s always been cool. Oh, and when I said he doesn’t sack his gifts, I forgot to clarify that he doesn’t do anything to wrap or conceal them either. He just gives it to you straight in the store bag he bought it from, LOL. But whatevs, I gots da gift! Oh, and another thing; my sister, although it’s nice she sacks up a bunch of gifts, for a few years I’d send my Christmas list to my closest family members, to sort of make it easy for them like my brother; you know, take the guess work out of it. I’d try to be as polite as possible though, because it does feel strange to ASK for gifts, but I mean, if we’re being real, if we know the gifts are coming, wouldn’t we not want our money to go to waste and get something the other person may not even like? I’m all for playing it safe and being sure they’ll want and like the gift. But my sister made it clear she doesn’t like that I send out a list, and that it’s not my Birthday (ie: I shouldn’t get to choose). I get it. So she blatantly ignores my lists and gets me what she thinks I’ll like. And well, let’s just say that my closet can only fit so much… 

;-)

Another tangent. Weeeee! LOL. My bad. It ties in though. Read on, reader.

So anyway, Christmas was nearing and my brother asked for a list from me. I forget exactly what was on that list now… I vaguely recall some weight-lifting related item… maybe that was at the top of my list. I think it was some weight lifting gloves. Not sure though. There were some other stuff too, but I know the Marty McFly Funko Pop was included. And well, voila! My brother gifted me the Marty McFly Funko Pop!! From…??

(This is where you guess)

(Keep guessing)

(This isn’t where I do one of those annoying things people do in conversations and go, “Guess what? *they answer it without actually allowing you a chance to guess*)

(I’m actually gonna allow you a chance to guess)

(Okay, time’s up, over… blaow! snap back to… the future… – see what I did there? ;-)

(Major brownie points to whoever got those references)

(Yes, there were two references in that one line)

(BTW, screw brownie points. Like sorry brownies, imma let you finish, but Krispy Kreme donuts are the best sweets in the world)

(Cinnabons are close behind though, without a doubt)

HOT TOPIC! DOT COM! Yep, he ordered it from their site (I told him where he could get each gift, should he get them). But I knew he got it from HotTopic.com because, as usual, he did nothing to conceal it. He gave it to me inside the shipping box with invoice slip and all, LMAO. Oh!!! It’s coming back to me. He got me this pop, but also did get me weight lifting gloves! Sports Chalet!! But, he got the wrong size, and they didn’t have my size in stock, so he ended up just returning them, but that was totally fine. So yep, Christmas of 2014, we ended up exchanging Funko Pops, basically. LOL. I got him a Frieza and he got me a Marty McFly with his DeLorean. I ended up placing this awesome little dude and his whip on my TV counter with the other pops I had, right on top of the cable box. Soon, I’d move it over to the corner of my desk. It’s currently on the top of my Funko shelf case that I’ll most likely post online at some point. I’ve posted pics of it online at various moments, but the line-up always changes. :-)

So yeah, I was super stoked to get this Pop. Although I wasn’t crazy over Funko Pops quite yet, I’d been kinda side-eyeing them. In a curious way. One of the things that helped was that my co-worker Kasey displayed some out-of-box Funko Pops on his desk, one of which was his Deadpool Pop. Just seeing it at his desk every day kinda had me intrigued to their cute little designs. And so, any time I’d walk past a Hot Topic, I’d just look at the Pops, but not necessarily feel a desire to buy one. But every time I’d see the Marty McFly Pop on Hot Topic’s site, I always thought about how cool of an out-of-box Funko Pop it would be to have, since it was with the freaking DeLorean!! 

I just love the Back to the Future movies. The 2nd one is my favorite because of its futuristic elements. I loved the futuristic ideas they had; the self-lacing shoes, the hoverboard, the self-drying jacket, their fashion. I dunno, I dug it. It’s also pretty cool how some of those things are being attempted to be produced today. I’m kinda iffy on it because of how its being done. I mean first off, the self-tying shoes, Nike came out with some a few years ago. Except I heard they weren’t even self-lacing, they were just replicas. Meaning, they were just designed/modeled after the movie’s shoes. But it was still cool; they looked fresh. But, they were super limited and were only being sold on eBay, I think. But they sold for super insane amounts of money. So that wasn’t realistic to get. Then they made another attempt at it like last year in 2016, but I didn’t follow through with the news on it. Also like super limited/unattainable/crazy-expensive, so I didn’t care for it again. But then they were making another actual self-lacing shoe that was more affordable, but this thing looked ugly. Looked like a Skecher shoe with a nike swoosh on it. No offense to Skecher wearers. :-) And secondly, like seriously, hoverboards. We’ve got “hoverboards” today. I’m not sure why we call it that when they’re just segways without handlebars, which may or may not explode. *shrugs*

But anyway, yeah, I love the Back to the Future films, 3rd was meh, and 2nd was my fav. I forgot how I ever got introduced to the films. I think my dad introduced me to the movies… maybe he rented them on VHS? or perhaps we caught them on TV? I’m leaning towards VHS though. But anyway, I loved them so much that in my late high school years, or maybe even early college years, I’m not quite sure… but around that time, when I had some money of my own, I bought the trilogy on DVD. This is big for me, because I don’t like buying movies on DVD. I don’t like rewatching movies. It’s too much time to dedicate to watch something I’ve already seen and already know what’s gonna happen. And to pay to re-do something? Not my ideal spend of money. But, when it's a film I really enjoy? I’ll shell out some cash for it :-) So I got myself the trilogy and rewatched it in all of its glory. I remember back in the day too that my best friend at the time, Jason, would catch one of the movies on TV. We’d be on the phone together, and I’d put on my DVD and ask him where he’s at in the film, and I’d fast forward to that part and it’d be like we were watching together. Fun times. But now, I can’t actually find my trilogy of DVDs :’( (nor can I find Jason, LMAO, but that’s a whole other topic). If only this Funko Pop DeLorean could bring me back in time………. LOL, I was gonna make some cheesy joke about going back in time to find that DVD trilogy… But how much of a waste would that be? Imagine? Using some time travel machine just to find an old DVD set I had, when things like Biff as President and stupidvisors exist? Yeah, real smart use of time travel, Ry. :p

So as for the Funko photos themselves… The first photo with the newspaper was a photo I was stoked to take a pic of. Just archiving the fact I have these two things, is enough to encapsulate my fandom for the movie. I love the fact that USA Today came out with their own Back to the Future themed paper on the date that Marty travelled to the future. For one thing, that was massively creative, and perhaps took a lot of patience on USA Today’s part. Like, I wonder when they thought up to do this, and how long the company’s been waiting to publish it, LOL. And also, it finally put an end (?) to all those ridiculous memes that would pretend “oh, this is the day and year that Marty travelled into the future!” Like nope, nice try, clickbait. No really, nice try. A bunch of “fans” fell for it. But it was easy to tell when they were fake memes. The original Back to the Future setting takes place in 1985. That’s the starting point. Marty basically travels 30 years in either direction. Don’t @ me about the 3rd movie when he goes into the ol’ west, because I don’t care about that, and I’m like 95% certain 1985 is still a good reference point, because he probably ended up going back to 1885. So back to the meme. If he is only going 30 years in either direction, that means 2015 was the year of his travel into the future. BOOM. Case Closed. (Love that anime.) So the newspaper though, I wasn’t able to snag it the morning it came out for like a number of cents… or whatever newspapers cost these days. I had to order it online from USA Today’s website for like $4 D,: LOL. 

The second photo was just a standard pic to take in Marty and his whip, LOL. I love Funko’s mold of the DeLorean. It’s done perfectly, IMO. Just the right percentage of a used and dated look to it, but not overly raggy, which captures the essence the ride always had in the movies :’). Also, I love the irony of the car itself. It looks like a cheap hunk of metal. Like not high-class or sophisticated looking. But its function is quite the opposite and performs an action of only the highest of class and sophistication! The third pic, well, I was hoping to just snap a shot of Marty and the DeLorean in front of the DVD box I had… But alas, it was lost somewhere… in the past… so instead I grabbed some Calvin Klein tag laying around and just snuck it in as an Easter egg treat for any of those who really dig Back to the Future :-) And if you don’t know the reference, you’re not finding it here. Go watch the movie(s)!

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